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SIR ANDREW.
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A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
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SIR TOBY.
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A contagious breath.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.
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SIR TOBY.
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To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall
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we make the welkin dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in
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a catch that will draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do
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that?
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SIR ANDREW.
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An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.
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CLOWN.
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By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Most certain: let our catch be, 'Thou knave.'
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CLOWN.
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'Hold thy peace, thou knave' knight? I shall be constrain'd
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in't to call thee knave, knight.
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SIR ANDREW.
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'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call
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me knave. Begin, fool; it begins 'Hold thy peace.'
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CLOWN.
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I shall never begin if I hold my peace.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Good, i' faith! Come, begin.
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[They sing a catch.]
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[Enter MARIA.]
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MARIA.
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What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not
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called up her steward Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of
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doors, never trust me.
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SIR TOBY.
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My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians; Malvolio's a
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Peg-a-Ramsey, and
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[Singing.]
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'Three merry men be we.'
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Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her blood? Tilly-valley,
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lady.
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'There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady.'
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CLOWN.
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Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.
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SIR ANDREW.
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Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do I
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too; he does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.
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SIR TOBY.
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[Singing] O, the twelfth day of December,--
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MARIA.
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For the love o' God, peace!
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[Enter MALVOLIO]
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MALVOLIO.
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My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have you no
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wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this
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time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my lady's house, that
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ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or
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remorse of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor
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time, in you?
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SIR TOBY.
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We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!
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MALVOLIO.
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Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me tell
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you that, though she harbours you as her kinsman she's nothing
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allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your
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misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, an it would
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please you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid you
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farewell.
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SIR TOBY.
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'Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.'
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MARIA.
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Nay, good Sir Toby.
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CLOWN.
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'His eyes do show his days are almost done.'
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MALVOLIO.
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